


Corn On The Cobb

by Dandelioff



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Cobb Vanth in a Crop Top, Crack Treated Seriously, Crushes, Din Disaster Djarin, Din is flustered, Embarrassment, Fluff and Crack, Happy, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Yodito is a secret matchmaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandelioff/pseuds/Dandelioff
Summary: Cobb Vanth wears a crop top, and Din loses his mind. That's it. That's the fic.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin & Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 28
Kudos: 198





	Corn On The Cobb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GuenVanHelsing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuenVanHelsing/gifts).



> Based on [this](https://intricatecakes.tumblr.com/post/635114803195707392/intricatecakes-corn-crop-top-on-a-cobb) amazing artwork of Cobb Vanth in a crop top, by [intricatecakes.](https://intricatecakes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This is for the fantastic discord, and their wild threads. I am living for their energy.

As they walk through the door of Vanth’s house and out of the blistering heat, Din feels irrationally grateful to the marshal for allowing them this place to rest. His ad’ika had just about reached the end of his tether when Vanth had made his generous offer. He can still feel the tension that had set in at the telltale wobbling of the kid’s lips and the tears glistening at the corners of his eyes; despite his early night, it would seem the Tatooine practice of rising before the suns was not something his ad’ika could get behind. Add to that the heat, the sand, and his unfortunate craggy robes, and his little one was a brown ball of misery. 

Din thanks the stars as he follows Vanth through the narrow front passage in his small home, and into the living room. “You can sit here while I get the water ready,” Vanth says, pointing at the low rising furniture; a two-person couch, a chair and a table. “Maybe get your armour off too, so you don’t have to waste any time once the basin is filled.”

Din agrees, and sets his whining bundle down. The bundle -that he’d taken on an imperial moff and his entire squadron for- immediately toddles over to his new favourite person, and makes grabby hands from his place by Vanth’s calves. Vanth lets out a helpless, adoring laugh and acquiesces. Din shakes his head with a rueful grin. 

The child had been attached to Vanth like a limpet all morning, as they’d packed up camp with the Tuskens and made their way back to town. He’d curled up on Vanth’s shoulder, tiny claws tangled in Vanth’s scarf, as Vanth had spoken to the townspeople about working together to rid themselves of their little dragon problem. He’d only agreed to come back to Din when Vanth headed to a private meeting with Weequay. 

“I suppose he’ll be helping me get the fresher ready for his bath, then.” Vanth says, smiling, and leaves the room with the kid. Din sighs and settles onto the sofa and begins the arduous process of removing his armour. He piles it all up neatly on the table beside the scarf Vanth had pulled off as soon as he’d gotten inside, and looks around as he waits for Vanth to return.

Vanth does, soon enough, face dust-free and the edges of his hairline damp. “It’s all set up,” he says. “And you can take your time. I’ve taken what I needed to.” He gestures to the small pile of clothes in his hands. “The kid seems to like the bed, so I’ve left him on it, and made a barricade with the blanket. He’s a little impatient though, so I’d go right now if I were you.”

Din snorts, and thanks him again as he brushes past him on his way to the fresher. He ignores the tingling of his skin where they’d touched. He strides into Vanth’s bedroom, and his vision is instantly ensnared by the mess the ad’ika has made of the bed, and the grains of sand he can see littering the clean sheets even from where he stands.

He groans, and heads forward to wrangle the kid out of his clothes and into the basin. It’s hard, and takes longer than he’d anticipated, but he’d eventually accomplished it, with all the finesse and grace of a bounty hunter in his prime completing a mission. He puts the kid back on the cleanest part of the bed, and heads back into the fresher.

He’s just finishing his own washing up when Vanth knocks on the door. Din hurriedly zips up his extra flight suit, and calls out for Vanth to enter. He hears Vanth’s footfalls as he walks up to the bed, and turns around to face him. Din freezes.  _ What is Vanth wearing? _ His eyes rove over that tall frame, lingering on every bit of exposed skin- from the enticing clavicles visible through the inverted triangle of his neckline, to the criminally alluring veins on his forearms, all the way down to his abdomen. His  _ bare _ abdomen. Din is staring, he knows, but he can’t help himself. Vanth is wearing a white shirt, if it can even be called that, with an amusing graphic of a cob of corn on it. Any other day, Din would be helmet-palming at the terrible pun, but today, his entire focus is tuned to the base of Vanth’s sternum, where his scrap of shirt ends. 

Din half wants to ask him if he’d somehow run out of cloth while getting this stitched, but he’s not sure what words his tongue will form if he opens his mouth. His gaze traces the pale unmarred skin, catching on his belly button and then moving down his hairless happy trail. Vanth’s body is a work of art. Din is peripherally aware that his body is visibly taut, and that Vanth can probably sense his entirely unsubtle once-over, but he can’t bring himself to care. Even Vanth’s hip-bones are attractive, jutting out just enough to emphasize the v leading from his narrow waist.

_ This shirt has got to go. _ It’s unacceptable, Din thinks, and maddeningly distracting. It’s doing things to his mind, making him start to perspire beneath his helmet. He barely notices his towel falling out of his lax hands. He’s suddenly determined to get Vanth to change out of it.  _ It’s a good thing, _ he tells himself, resisting the urge to reach out and touch.  _ No one else needs to see Vanth like this. _

He summons enough awareness to decide to tell Vanth to get rid of this abomination, and promptly chokes on his tongue. His mouth is dry, and he’s coughing like he’s a tooka with a hairball lodged in his throat. He bends over, eyes squeezing shut as he wheezes. Vaguely, over the embarrassment sweeping over his entire form, he can feel Vanth rushing up beside him, hands hovering awkwardly over his heaving back. It takes one more awkward croak for Vanth to abandon his hesitation and slam his hand down hard on Din’s back, the other one sliding around him to rub his chest. Din gasps, then sucks in a harsh breath, wheezes petering out under the gentle pressure of Vanth’s palms pressing down and stroking both his back and his front.

Din stops hacking, but doesn’t raise from his crouch. His face is aflame, he knows, and he’s never been more thankful for his creed than at this moment. He idly wonders if he can freeze this way, or maybe summon the Krayt so he doesn’t have to face the cause of his predicament. Said cause who is currently fussing over him, and far too close for any semblance of rational thought to exist in Din’s brain.

“-ndo? Are you alright?” Vanths hands are on his shoulders now, and he’s dropped into a crouch beside Din. He’s also been talking, apparently, while Din had been cursing his ridiculous thoughts and their ability to impair his functioning. Din clears his throat and squeezes his eyes shut beneath his visor, blinking rapidly when he reopens them, as if to send adrift the image that had reduced him to this choking mess. He leaves one hand where it rests on his thigh and moves his other to massage his throat. 

He’s acutely aware of Vanth’s gaze steadily trained on him, hand holding onto his shoulder and thumb tracing absent circles over his shirt. He takes a measured breath through his nose, exhales, and turns to face Vanth, who is  _ much _ closer than he’d assumed. Din inhales sharply, and really, he only intends to squeeze his thigh so his unruly tongue doesn’t focus on the sight in front of him, but his neurons still aren’t firing at full capacity, and he constricts both his hands. His eyes bulge and he releases a strangled sound as he ends up choking himself, straightening and releasing his vice grip almost instantaneously, but the damage has already been done. 

Vanth rises with him, and his face has moved far beyond simple concern. Din is mortified.  _ What is wrong with him? _ “Mando? What’s going on?” Has Vanth’s gaze always been so blue, so searching? Din feels his thoughts slipping away again and tears his traitorous eyes away, digging his nails into his palm.  _ Calm down, _ he thinks to himself.  _ Stop acting like a fool. _

“A fly.”

“What?” Vanth is understandably incredulous. 

Din is mentally kicking himself.  _ A fly? Really? In a home with vacuum sealed doors and windows. _ But that is apparently the hill he’s going to die on. “Yes, a fly.” He hopes he sounds testy enough that Vanth doesn’t pry. “It must’ve come in as we entered.”

“Uh huh.” Vanth is nodding slowly, brows slowly rising. “A fly. And it somehow entered your mouth, what,  _ through _ your helmet?”

_ Dank farrik _ . His helmet. He’s worn it for so long he often forgot it was even on.  _ Can this explanation possibly get any worse? _ “Yes, it must have. Gotten under my helmet I mean, not  _ through _ it, obviously.” His voice is as level as he can make it, and he forces his spine straight, shoulders deliberately relaxed.

“Obviously,” Vanth echoes. They stare at each other. “Are you sure you don’t need more water, Mando? I can run down to Weequay for a little extra, and you can take a seat under the cooling vent.” 

Din forces himself not to duck his head. “I am  _ not _ heat-addled,” he snarls. “I have been to Tatooine  _ many _ times before. I can handle myself.” He feels his hackles rising.

“Hey, there’s no shame in not being able to take all this heat. It can be extremely unbearable to off-worlders.” To Vanth’s credit, he doesn’t sound condescending in the least. But Din is not having it. “Do you want some looser clothes? I can lend you so-”

“No!” His refusal is far louder than he intends, but his mind has once again disconnected at the merest possibility of wearing Vanth’s clothes.  _ I wonder if they’re as soft as they look, or if they smell like him? _ Din shakes his head vigorously. “No,” he says again, “My flight suit is fine.  _ I _ am fine.”

“Alright, I didn’t mean to offend.” Vanth quickly retracts his outstretched hands, and takes a step away. Din feels oddly bereft, and guilty. Before he can apologize however, they’re interrupted by a loud crash from the adjacent room.  _ The child _ .  _ But hadn’t Din put him on the bed? _ They glance at the empty bed, and the rumpled nest of sheets where just moments before, a tiny brown-wrapped baby had lain.  _ This kid. _

Din and Vanth leap into action, running through the door. Well,  _ Vanth _ runs through the door. Din lets his eyes slip a little lower, gets distracted for just that split second, and slams into the doorframe with his shoulder. “ _ Kriff,” _ he hisses under his breath, shaking the stinging limb.  _ At least he isn’t in his armour _ , he thinks, as he brushes off the pain and follows Vanth; the ringing of beskar would have broadcasted his misstep for miles.

They careen into Vanth’s tiny living room, eyes sweeping frantically over every inch for the source of the sound. What they find has Din groaning aloud and Vanth bursting into laughter beside him. It’s the kid, lying in a pile of Din’s armour that he’d evidently pulled off of the low table Din had left it on. And this precocious child has somehow managed to also badly wrap himself in Vanth’s discarded red scarf. He looks ridiculous. It’s far too long for his body, and his fingers aren’t nearly dexterous enough to have been able to wrap him this snuggly in the soft fabric. 

“How did he even get that around himself?” Din sounds baffled.

“He must have-” Vanth breathes out between guffaws, “he must have rolled himself into it!” Vanth is bent nearly in double, cheeks pleasantly flushed and eyes bright. Din tries really hard not to let his eyes stray, but they’re beyond all control. They fall to Vanth’s shapely waist, and his elegant hands that are clutching at his hip-bones. Din’s stopped from doing something incredibly impulsive, like reaching out and tracing that enticing jut of bone with his own hands, by a plaintive whine.

He looks at the kid, or, whatever little of him is visible- the rounded top of his head, sprouting tufts of white fuzz, and his floppy pointed ears. The rest of him is haphazardly covered, from his doe-eyes, to his clawed feet, bar the tips of a few toes peeking out from below. The bundle whines again, high pitched and displeased, a vaguely hand shaped bulge struggling to flail within its confines. The kid rocks himself unsteadily where he lies in the shallow depression of Din’s overturned cuirass.

_ He must’ve used his powers to pull the armour down, _ Din thinks,  _ and fallen in when he tried to stand up. _ “What am I going to do with you, ad’ika,” Din says, as he moves to extricate his ridiculous child from his plight. He scoops up the clumsy little terror, heart clenching at the pleased coo it earns him, and sets about untangling him. He gets both feet free first, and has to bite his lips to stop the soft sounds that form when he sees those itty-bitty toes flexing and extending in delight.

Vanth has no such compunctions. “Aww,” he exclaims in adoration. “Look at that.” He reaches out a hand and runs a finger over the tops of the child’s feet, and smiles wide at the muffled giggle this elicits. His hand joins Din’s in unraveling this precious terror. Together, they slowly unwind the scarf, passing the kid between their arms as they maneuver the free end. 

They finally unearth his grinning face, bouncing body grasped tightly in the cradle of Din’s arms and wide eyes shining up at Vanth. Vanth grins back just as brightly. Din’s head feels light, and his heart is oddly full; it feels unbelievably pleasant, watching them together. Vanth tweaks the kid’s cheek. “You silly little womp rat,” he says affectionately, before wrapping his scarf back around his neck. Din shoves down the disappointment that wells up in him as those delectable collarbones are covered. “You enjoy causing trouble, don’t you?” The child giggles as if in agreement. “I feel like I have more white hair already, and I’ve only known you for a day. I bet your dad is completely bald under there, huh.”

He’s grinning at Din now, eyebrows waggling teasingly. Din snorts. “I have hair.” “Mhmm,” Vanth says, “I’m sure you do.” He shares a conspiring grin with the kid. The kid’s delight is infectious. Din feels his lips pulling up at the corners despite himself. He shakes his head and sighs. “Whatever makes you feel better, Vanth.” He moves to hand the child over, but Vanth stops him.

“Don’t worry your old man bones, Mando, I’ll pick these pieces up.” Vanth bends down again, and Din rolls his eyes skyward to keep them away from that exquisite rear, accentuated even more because of his outrageous top. Vanth picks up his cuirass first, and -here, Din firmly believes there is some deity just waiting in the wings to ruin his day- places it in front of his own chest. 

Din narrowly avoids choking on his tongue again. The cuirass cuts off just about where Vanth’s crop top ends, leaving miles of bare skin between the end of the gleaming metal and the low waistband of Vanth’s trousers. Din’s pretty sure he’s stopped breathing. Vanth continues to address his tiny captive audience. “What do you think, kid? Will I make a decent Mandalorian someday?” Din wants to punch Vanth in the mouth,  _ with his lips _ . He ignores the clenching in his gut and settles instead for telling Vanth off. The thought of Vanth someday donning beskar as a true Mandalorian does not make his belly flutter, it absolutely does  _ not _ . “You and those spindly arms? You wouldn’t last a day in training.”

Vanth gasps, the affronted sound cutting through the peaceful atmosphere. Din winces internally, fretfully quelling the panic beginning to set in.  _ What has he done? _ But one look at Vanth’s still grinning face sets him at ease.  _ The man is only teasing. _

“Spindly?” Vanth’s voice rises to a squawk. “My arms are wonderful.” He flexes a bicep awkwardly, chestplate still held aloft, and raises a challenging eyebrow at Din. Din is in so much trouble. He squares his shoulders and turns his chin up, ignoring the wall of feeling rising in him. “Is that so?” He looks Vanth up and down, jaw clenching with the effort of not staring, and shrugs dismissively. “Care to prove it?”

There’s tension rising in the atmosphere. Vanth’s stance straightens as he registers the dare in Din’s voice. The child’s head oscillates from one person to the next as he also picks up on the anticipation tingeing their frames. 

“Are you serious?”

Din swallows tightly. “Yes.” He’s pleased when his voice doesn’t betray the nerves suddenly shooting through his veins like liquid fire.

“Alright then.” He sets Din’s armour down and cracks his knuckles. Vanth stretches his arms high, fingers interlocked, and Din’s mind blanks, legs suddenly weak. Vanth looks down at his bared midriff, crop top having risen to just below the level of his nipples, and chuckles. He pats his taut stomach, then tugs his shirt down. “Let me change first? I don’t like idea of sweating in this shirt.”

Din lets out a strangled sounding "yes" in agreement, the words ‘this shirt’ and ‘sweat’ looping in his brain. Vanth gives him a bewildered look as he walks off in the direction of the fresher. Din lets out a sigh of relief. His neck prickles with embarrassment as he recollects every single ludicrous thing he’d done in Vanth’s presence that day.

He looks down at the kid in his arms, and shrugs as he meets those guileless eyes. “At least he isn’t wearing  _ that  _ outfit anymore, right? That’s a relief.”

The child coos, and then mimes a weak punch at Din’s chest. Din feels his muscles tense again.  _ Frick.  _ Now he’s got to deal with Vanth getting up close and personal, their bodies in each others’ spaces. He closes his eyes in defeat and wishes he could pinch the bridge of his nose.  _ Dank farrik.  _ He’d rather get eaten by the Krayt, than spend another second watching Vanth be so casually attractive while being unable to actually  _ do _ anything.  _ This is going to be one long night.  _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [tumblr](https://dandelioff.tumblr.com/) now! Feel free to drop by


End file.
